Deceit
by plumbloom
Summary: A oneshot dealing with Jet's childhood, his connection with Longshot and Smellerbee, and the death of his parents. prequel to "The Day He Himself Shall Wipe My Tears Away".


**The Rape of Nanami**

"Why so solemn, little one?" Kyungsoo set a bowl of barnacle-shrimp gumbo in front of her only son. He frowned into the steam. Underneath the table, his small fists were curled into balls. She watched him for a moment longer, until hunger won out, and he stuck his wooden spoon into the gumbo and sniffed at it. Puzzled, Kyungsoo went to the window and looked out.

It was early evening and yet black as pitch outside, the lanterns on the wharf gleaming in the fallen darkness. The winter was quickly approaching. Her husband, Jinsuk, was reclining outside of their bungalow, smoking a pipe and looking at the lights in the distance. There was something hushed, too, about his usual easygoing demeanor.

"Supper's ready, my love," Kyungsoo said, leaning out of the window to tousle his hair. She glanced back at their son to make sure he wasn't listening. Seeing that he was engrossed in his soup, she asked her husband, "Did you notice anything strange about Jet today?"

Jinsuk glanced up at his wife. For a moment, a fond smile lit his lips as he looked at her face. Then it faded and his mouth grew firm again. "He was down at the wharf with me today when a refugee ship came in."

"I see." She bit her lip. "How many?"

"Only a dozen or so, all from Tural Island. I tried to see to it that he stayed away, but he's too curious and I have a job to keep."

Kyungsoo touched his hair again. "I understand." She withdrew her head into the bungalow and shut the window against the chill evening air, then went back to the stove and finished serving the meal. Jet was finally eating, but he still looked discontent. She set her husband's place and then began cleaning up while he made his way inside.

When the three had finally settled down together, Jet lifted his eyes from his gumbo and addressed his father, "Papa?"

"Yes, Jet."

"The people on the small ship today – "

"I know what you're going to ask me, son. But we shouldn't speak of it at supper."

He fell silent, tracing patterns in the stew with his spoon. It was unlike his father to be even slightly short with him, and Jinsuk, noticing the reaction, added,

"You want to know everything, eh? Just like your old man. Listen, after supper I'll take you down to the pier and we'll catch some jellyfish mussels for your mama, and we can talk about the people on the ship then. How does that sound?"

Jet nodded eagerly, then paused and sent an inquiring glance at his mother.

She smiled. "If you're back by bedtime, then I don't see why not. And I can bake a jellyfish pie tomorrow."

Mood visibly improved, Jet attacked his gumbo with gusto. Still, the faces of the people from the ship lingered in his mind.

Jinsuk was a stevedore, a short but powerfully built man, and Jet (though lanky for his age) adored his father and aspired to work beside him when he grew older. Most days he accompanied his father down to the wharf and watched carefully for awhile, gradually getting distracted and then running off to see different ships, exotic cargoes and foreigners. Occasionally he would help merchants that he had come to know over the years carry this or that into the marketplace, and earn a few coins for his troubles – which were really no troubles at all. Then he would buy a piece of sweet fruit or a rice cake and amble through the streets of Nanami, taking in the sights. It was a seaport town that continually changed, and though he had come to know the seasonal merchants well, they came and went each year and he had no particularly close friends. Sometimes he would play dice with the bilge-rats of seafaring vessels, but often he found them as dishonest as they were pale and sickly.

Often he would go swimming or fishing, or nap beneath the pier in the afternoons. In the evenings, he received lessons from his mother in simple math and writing. Geography and history he knew plenty about from the merchants and other men on the wharf. And on his father's rare days off, he learned to fight with the traditional hooked swords. These were Jet's favourite days, his father sweating and laughing as Jet lunged at him, dodging out of the way 'just in time'; skimming the swords over the tops of the reeds on the sand dunes and marveling as the seedy heads fell like drops of rain to the sand.

This day had been cold, so Jet avoided swimming. After following his father about for a few hours, he flopped down on a few sacks of grain and gnawed on a reed from the dunes – imagining he looked like his father cheerfully smoking his pipe – and watched the ships dock. There seemed to be some sort of commotion down at the end of the wharf – two larger ships were being carefully moved to make way for a third, bedraggled looking one, and Jet sat up in interest. Jinsuk paused in his work, too, and said absentmindedly, "Better not go down there."

He waited until Jinsuk was distracted and dashed off.

At the end of the pier, it was difficult to see because there was a small crowd of people, like Jet, straining to see what was happening. He elbowed his way through the sea of legs and finally stood at the front of the crowd just as the gangplank came down. But instead of the stevedores rushing to unload the ship, they stood silently as people began to climb off.

A few passenger ships stopped at Nanami each year, mostly to purchase supplies, so the absence of cargo on his ship was not so startling. What was startling was the state of the people disembarking.

They were dressed in rags, and looked half-wild, starving, even worse than the bilge rats. Some had curious, scabbed-over wounds in places that could not be explained simply by the fact of a long journey by ship. Most were men, though there were a few women and two very small children. The taller was a boy, perhaps a year younger than Jet, with short dark hair and darker eyes, and the shorter was a girl, her hair in two messy pigtails. Jet caught the boy's gaze and, glancing around to make sure no one was looking, walked over to them.

"Hey," Jet said in a friendly yet reserved tone that he had heard his father use many times with merchants he didn't know.

They regarded him silently. They were dirty, though it was obvious that their faces had been scrubbed recently with saltwater, and they smelled awful. Jet was used to the stench from playing with the bilge-rats, and he continued unfazed,

"So where are you from?"

Finally the girl spoke. She couldn't have been more than five, and looked like she was accustomed to being shy. There was no shyness on her face, though, just a blank expression as she replied, "Tural Island."

"Oh yeah, I know where that is. South of here. Kind of hard to get around the cape, wasn't it? Is this your parents' boat?"

She continued staring blankly. "Our parents are dead."

Silence. "Oh," said Jet, after skipping a beat. He bowed as Kyungsoo had taught him. "I'm sorry." He waited for either of them to say anything else, but they were quiet, as if he were not there.

"I'm Jet. I'm eight years old."

He didn't know if she had heard him, so he started to repeat himself when she interrupted, "I'm Smellerbee and I'm seven." She looked a little less out of it as they continued to talk.

"Is he your brother, then?"

"Kind of. He's Longshot. I think he's almost nine." She glanced over at the impassive face, and the boy met her eyes. "Yeah. I lived with his family."

"Why'd you guys come to Nanami?" Somehow Jet felt as if he knew the answer – or, at least, knew the answer wasn't going to be one that he liked – but he continued to push ahead out of simple stubbornness of spirit.

Smellerbee's eyes narrowed, suspicious for one so young, and snapped, "Why do you care?" Before Jet could answer, however, she ground out: "Our town was attacked by the Fire Nation. They burnt everything, killed everyone. We're _refugees_." She said the word in the tone of one who has been told something unpleasant again, and again, until the very words are like blows. Jet stared into her eyes. She made him very uncomfortable, a strange feeling for a boy who had seen and done so much in his short lifetime. He wanted to point out that if the Fire Nation had killed everyone, then they wouldn't be here, in him home, but he took another look at Longshot's stern face and thought better of it.

"Boy! Leave these children alone!" One of the stevedores that Jet didn't recognize shooed him away. He ducked out through the crowd and tore down to the pier, where he sat for a long time, looking at the sea.

After dinner, Jinsuk lit his pipe again and gathered the small nets they would use to catch the jellyfish mussels. Jet cleared off the table while his mother scrubbed at the pitted tureen. Before they left, she gathered Jet up into her arms as she had done when he was little and kissed him thrice, once on each cheek and then on the forehead. He grinned in an embarrassed way, kissed her back, and wriggled out of her arms.

The night was cold, but a steamy wind blew off the ocean. Jinsuk wrapped a thick blanket around their legs as they sat on the edge of the pier, watching the water for the dim phosphorescence of the jellyfish mussels.

"Papa?" Jet asked after he judged that enough time had passed.

Jinsuk wrapped an arm around his son, the other hand gripping the nets. "No luck tonight, eh?"

Crestfallen, Jet bit his lip. "No."

"I know what you're going to ask me."

"How?"

"Because you're my son. And I'll answer you honestly." Jinsuk removed his arm to rub at the back of his exposed neck. "That ship today was a refugee ship. Do you know what refugee means?"

"Sort of. But, Papa."

"Hm?"

"I met a little girl and boy from the ship."

"So you might be the one to tell me about all of this," Jinsuk smiled twistedly, lifting his head to the heavens so Jet couldn't see. The stars were rubbed out by the blackest of clouds. "It's good that you waited to speak of it when your mama wasn't around."

"They said that they are from Tural Island. They said the Fire Nation attacked and burnt their village, and killed everyone. They looked blank. Blanker than dolls. Papa, how could the Fire Nation do that?"

"That's what happens in a war – "

"How could they have killed everyone, if the refugees are here now?"

Jinsuk chose his words carefully. "When the little girl and boy said that, they meant that there was a lot of killing – that it felt like everyone they knew and loved died." He was glad Jet had not asked him the unanswerable _why_.

They were silent for a time. Jet began to shiver and Jinsuk replaced his arm, drawing the boy close to him. When the shivering had stopped, Jet said, "They killed everyone because of the war."

"Yes."

"So the village must have been part of the resistance. If they rebelled against the Fire Nation, that's the only reason they'd burn the whole village and kill everyone." This was why he hadn't asked the unanswerable, because a partial explanation, clothed in an obscene wisp of logic, lived within him.

"Where did you learn such words, such things?"

"Oh, Papa." Jet sighed. More silence. "The wharf – I mean – my friends there."

Jinsuk's face remained impassive, but he felt his teeth grind with the sound of rock scraping over paper as he opened his mouth to speak. "What do your friends say? It isn't as if the village deserved it, even if they were part of the resistance."

"I know that. But we're not part of the resistance, because the Fire Nation has never attacked. What will happen to that boy and girl now?" The boy paused, then swallowed. "What happens on the days that Mama keeps us inside?"

Silence, for a third time. Not even the cry of a seabird sounded through the black night. The ocean waves moved in and out ceaselessly like the turning of a loved one in the grip of a fever.

"I said I would answer you honestly. But I cannot answer you completely. Is that all right, son? I'll tell you as much as I'm able, but then we'll speak of it no more. It makes a man's mind spoil, like maggots in the rice."

Jet didn't reply save for burrowing deeper into his father's chest, an expression of trust so innocent that it made Jinsuk's stomach ache.

"Nanami will never be attacked because we have a contract with the Fire Nation. We are a valuable seaport. In return for the use of our docks, for being able to peacefully purchase supplies, we have guaranteed that we will never be attacked, nor even suffer the presence of a single soldier. No one comes ashore except their bilge-rats and working men, to buy and sell. Their ships are repaired, their supplies are refurnished, and if they have wounded men, doctors are sent to treat them aboard the ships. Then they depart. This is a necessary evil until the war ends. What happens then can only be known when it has happened." Jinsuk sorely missed his pipe, which he had left home for Kyungsoo to clean.

"On the days when your mama keeps us inside, it is because there are Fire navy ships docked. Neither of us wish for you to see such things. I stay because...I stay so that you won't get lonesome. On those days, you wouldn't be able to run about anyway. The wharf is silent and cold. You would be scolded for the kind of running and playing that you do. But those days are the small price that we pay so that you, my son, will never have to say things that don't make sense, or look so blank, like that little girl and boy. Don't fret over them. They will probably be taken on as wharfies. No one lacks for work or a roof here. In time, their bad memories will fade." Jinsuk cleared his throat, which had become scratchy over his small speech. The ocean's murmurs had become louder. He judged the passing of an hour by sheer instinct. "Now we ought to get home to your mama."

They stood. Jet's face was unreadable. "Papa," he whispered.

Jinsuk's breath caught. He had not expected more, not after their silent agreement. "Jet –"

"Look."

A few feet from the pier, the otherwordly shine of the jellyfish mussels lit the black waters like so many stars in the sky.

Over the course of the next two weeks, Kyungsoo and Jinsuk noticed a quiet but steady change in their son. There was more fire in his actions, a kind of purposefulness to his motion. He still followed his father down to the wharf each day, but instead of playing he trained with the new wharfies, Longshot and Smellerbee. Outside of the house, they became his constant companions. At home, he applied himself to his studies with vigor. His naturally inquisitive mind had become ferocious, absorbing all he could. He rarely played at all anymore, preferring to help his mother around the house or spend hours with Longshot and Smellerbee, reading aloud to them. Kyungsoo watched all of this with affection, thinking that her only son was growing up. Jinsuk made no comment, but inwardly he was a little worried. One afternoon he caught the trio of wharfies down at the Spiderfish Tavern, watching a kickboxing match. He took Jet aside and had begun to reprimand him when a boy of ten or eleven approached him.

"Pardon me, sir," the boy aplogised, bowing. "My brother and I were watching over him." He gestured back to Longshot and Smellerbee, where another boy, similar-looking enough to be the first boy's twin, was standing behind the younger children, also intently watching the fight. "I'm Deukku, and that is my brother, Sung-kil. My uncle owns this tavern. Longshot and Smellerbee live with our family in the apartment above."

Jinsuk bowed to him. "Thank you for watching my son."

As if sensing his disapproval, Deukku continued, "Permit me to say so, sir, but my uncle's tavern is a respectable establishment. I understand if you do not wish your son to watch the matches, but I assure you that no harm has come to him. I apologise once again."

"No, there is no need." Jinsuk looked over at Sung-kil and the refugee children. Smellerbee's hair was cut short, like a boy's. Their faces were no longer 'blank', but animated and intent as they watched the match. Longshot glanced over at Jet with concern, but when his eyes met Jinsuk's he bowed a little and turned away.

During all of this, Jet had been gazing respectfully at his father. Jinsuk looked down at him and saw the face of a young man emerging in his calm eyes and fixed mouth. He saw recognition in Jet's eyes, the boy knowing that his father was finally realizing the full impact of their conversation weeks prior. Jinsuk breathed deep, unsure of what to say. "Jet – "

"Yes, Papa."

"Be sure you're home by dark." There was plenty of time to tell him, plenty of time to watch him live and learn and grow. Plenty of time in which to confess, repent his sins; and then they would truly be united as father and son. Jet looked a little puzzled, but kept his calm.

"Yes, Papa."

That night, the Fire Nation attacked.

"They're saying that we're harbouring dangerous refugees," Jinsuk explained to his wife as he ripped up the floorboards with his hook swords and uncovered the hidden armor. She helped him into it, rubbing her fingers across his skin, drawing in his scent. It was already beginning to change with the stink of fear for his son and must from his armor. "You must stay here. We're too close to the wharf for them to burn our bungalow. Hide in the closet."

"Jinsuk, please…" Kyungsoo kept back her tears, but that single sob escaped from her throat as she was kneeling to tighten his boots. He was torn, in that moment, between son and wife.

"Please find him."

As he left the house, he knew that if either of them died it would be better for them both to have died.

Deukku and Sung-kil led the younger children upstairs to a crawlspace in the attic. When Jet protested, they threatened to bind him. Longshot and Smellerbee seemed transfixed, their eyes wide and open, their limbs cold and unresponsive. Smellerbee was curled in Longshot's lap, while Deukku held them both. There was nothing in the crawlspace, not even a blanket, and the night was cold. Outside, they could hear the crackle of fire and high screams, low shouts. Once in awhile there was an eerie whistling that made Smellerbee shake as if possessed.

"I have to go," Jet cried, trying to control his voice. "I have to be with my mama and papa."

"Your father – "

"You made no vow to protect me. You swore no oath!" Jet stood, head grazing the ceiling of the crawlspace. It made him feel taller. "My parents will come for me if I don't find them. They'll never find me here. They'll die."

Uneasily, the twins exchanged glances. Finally Sung-kil, the quieter of the two, rose as well, hunching over. "I'll go with you."

His old armor was tight on him, Jinsuk noted as he stole along an alleyway, and it was different from the current uniform. He hoped the discrepancy would go unnoticed in the dark night, and avoided the bright blazes that were sure to give him away. They were not razing the town, and his heart beat a little easier. He made his way across the factory district and turned on the street that led to the tavern.

"You there!" An officer gestured at him, commanding him to stop. He held a frightened-looking man by the back of his shirt; several children were standing nearby, soot-covered and crying. "Take these prisoners back to the ship."

"Sir." Jinsuk started to obey, then froze. He recognised the voice, and he recognised the face that came with it.

The officer frowned and conjured a flame in his free hand, holding it aloft. "Blazing heavens…Rinzao?"

Jinsuk dropped his swords and made a dash for his life. The officer howled powerfully in anger and the last thing Jinsuk felt was the fire which captured his back and then engulfed him. As he fell to the ground, unable to control his writhing, he remembered his wife's face, the way it had contorted when she told him, "There will be a child," and the way it had not been possible to stop his anger, his fear, and his self-loathing. But even more dangerous, more regrettable, had been the moment earlier that day when he had looked at Jet's calm face and for the first time in his life – in spite of his fear, and of all the lies – honestly, and simply, loved him.

Jet stopped abruptly; Sung-kil, who was running behind, tripped a bit and doubled back.

"What is it?"

He pointed at the ground. "These are my father's swords."

Sung-kil bent and touched them. "They're tarnished, and hot." He rose and did not meet Jet's eyes. Slowly, Jet bent and used his sleeve to pick up the swords.

"We're going to my home." The voice which came out of Jet did not seem to be his own. It was a snarl, or a growl; in any case, it was not the voice that should have issued forth from anything like a human mouth, much less a child's.

When the door burst open, Kyungsoo gasped with hope. When the footsteps sounded on the floor, she shivered, recognising one set as her son's and the other's as belonging to someone she did not know. Nevertheless she was unable to contain herself – she burst out of the closet and ran to the main room.

Jet stood there, another boy at his side, looking very old. She grasped him and cried out in pain when the swords burned her arm. He threw them down and stood looking up at her quizzically. But when she embraced him again, he hugged her back so tightly she thought that they would crack each other to pieces.

Then, too quickly, unfairly to grasp, a knock sounded on the door and it flew open. A Fire Nation soldier stood there, staring at Kyungsoo.

"Traitor's wench," he growled, lifting his hands. They began to glow. Jet released his mother and grabbed the swords from the floor, unmindful of them sizzling into his palms. He began to assume a fighting stance, but Kyungsoo shoved him out of the way and lunged at the soldier, howling.

His mother, his kind, gentle mama. Her lilting laugh, her worried brow, her unsure hands as she tried to work away the knots in his father's neck, fretted over some dish which had not come out quite right. Now she was screaming like a banshee as she fell into the startled soldier's arms and attempted to claw out his eyes. Sung-kil grabbed Jet around the waist and ran for the back entrance, and as he moved away his mother's scream – continuous, with no pause for breath, with no human element to it – rang in his ears with the final image of the soldier plunging his hands into his mother's sides, burning holes into her, as she dug out his eyes.

He vomited over Sung-kil's back and swore to the bitter taste in his mouth that he would live only for the day when he would hear the same scream wrung out of every Fire Nation soldier he could find.


End file.
